Indomitable
by AZGirl
Summary: Steve attempts to cope with solitary confinement. Spoilers for season one. Likely to be AU.


**Title**: Indomitable

**Summary**: Steve attempts to cope with solitary confinement.

**Disclaimer**: Hawaii Five-0 is not mine. I'm just borrowing the concepts and characters for a little while.

**Spoilers**: Season one especially the finale is open season. Most likely to be AU.

**A/N**: I've purposely messed with some elements of this story like flow, transitions, and verb tenses. Thanks to Jaz22 for the beta - all remaining mistakes are mine.

ooooooo

That first night I use my one phone call to get in touch with the Judge Advocate General's (JAG) office hoping the Navy will provide me with a lawyer to help fight the charges against me. But the next morning, when a lawyer finally does come, it's not who I'm expecting. Instead of someone in uniform, it's a public defender that barely seemed old enough to have graduated high school let alone be qualified to defend me in a trial.

He asks me to sit down, but is clearly nervous to be in the same room as me. After an attempt at what seems to be a calming breath, the kid stammers out that the Navy has sent him to be my attorney for at least the arraignment that afternoon. The guy – I don't even remember his name right now – hands me a letter that is obviously from the JAG office stating that pending the outcome of my trial, I will be court-martialed for conduct unbecoming and dishonorably discharged from the Navy.

My stomach drops into my feet while my heart simultaneously leaps into my throat. I don't even bother to finish reading the letter. It slides from my numb fingers onto the table. My mind is a complete blank.

Once my 'attorney' is able to get my attention again, he says that if I want a different lawyer that he'd represent me until he finds someone else. He's just who the JAG office could get in touch with on such short notice since I have the right to an attorney even if they can't or won't defend me.

I'm still in shock and can't even process this new development. I've served the Navy honorably for more than a decade and even they think I'm guilty of the crimes of which I've been accused. I've been abandoned by the only home I've had for a huge chunk of my life.

When I came back to Hawai'i, I hadn't intended on staying, but the leadership of the task force had taken over my life. I had the governor in my corner and a great team to back me. I was back home and back where I felt I belonged.

And now months later, I find out that the governor has been dirty all along. Working for or with Wo Fat, the man who had ultimately been behind the deaths of my parents. How could I have not seen it? Maybe I've gone soft while not being on active duty anymore? Not that it matters any longer….

I stand accused of not only her murder but Laura Hills' as well. The Governor made me trust her and think I was her friend but she'd been betraying me and the state of Hawai'i this whole time. I'm now considered an outcast by those I thought were on my side. To everyone but my team, I am guilty, and it seems even Hawai'i has abandoned me too.

Junior Attorney, who has told me that he just passed the bar a month ago and is the public defenders office's newest recruit, is at the court house when I'm brought over from my arraignment. He 'regretfully' informs me that no attorney in the private sector is willing to be my lawyer. Patricia Jameson was too popular a governor and they just can't risk their careers on the off chance they manage to get me acquitted. I'm stuck with Junior for the duration. I'm pretty certain Junior has a name, but I can't seem to care enough to learn it.

I'm roughly escorted by HPD into the building through an entrance used only by the judges. My hands are bound by handcuff-type rings attached to a thick leather belt around my waist. A chain is attached to a steel loop which leads to the shackles around my ankles. The chain leading to my ankle shackles is a little too short so it forces me to hunch over a lot in order to walk. The chain between my feet barely allows me to walk a stride that's even half of normal for me it's so short. Apparently they're taking no risks with such a highly dangerous and violent prisoner.

I've yet to see anyone from my team and when I enter the courtroom, also from an entrance not generally used by the public, I know I won't be seeing them today at all. The courtroom is empty except for essential personnel, the attorneys, the court reporter, the judge, and me.

I enter a plea of not guilty and am denied bail because I've been deemed a flight risk. I will be held in solitary confinement at Halawa Correctional until the trial which is set six months from now. Usually Justice is not meted out so swiftly, but in my case she's been encouraged to move a little faster than normal. Evidently when you kill a popular governor, you get special privileges while others get to languish in the system for years. I had never before realized that Justice was truly as blind as her image is usually depicted.

The intake process for new prisoners is designed to humiliate and take away all you are piece-by-piece until there's nothing left but a husk in a brightly-colored jumpsuit and cheap cloth slippers. I endured as best I knew how and it took everything within me to not react to anything they did to try to demoralize me. I could tell they were taking great pleasure in purposely making every aspect more uncomfortable and painful than was probably normal, especially the cavity search.

I forced myself to be passive to all they did and said, and as each minute ticked by I shoved down my emotions to the point where I didn't really feel anything at all. No fear. No hate. No hope.

No one spoke to me except to tell me where to go or what to do, and I let them do whatever they wanted to me. Their treatment of me just barely violated my civil rights, but never went too far. According to the law, I was still innocent until proven guilty beyond a reasonable doubt even though right now every member of law enforcement thought otherwise in my case and treated me accordingly.

Finally I was taken to my new home. It was late at night when they finally moved me presumably to prevent any reaction from the general population, but the other prisoners must have been tipped off and they did their best to give me a warm welcome.

If they wanted me to react in some way, then they were definitely disappointed. The only thing they did get was the expressionless mask I forced upon my face once I was arrested – a face that became all the more stony as time went by. The only movement of my face was the blinking of my eyes.

_Danny would've had a field day naming this face_, I think before forcing all thoughts of my friend from my mind. My life outside these walls was a distraction I couldn't afford right now – I had to concentrate on the here and now.

I turned a deaf ear to their calls, taunts, and threats and kept my head pointed straight ahead even as my eyes were looking everywhere studying the layout and scanning for potential weaknesses of the prison. It was a habit I'd learned as a SEAL that I've never been able to break. When arriving somewhere new, whether entering a restaurant or a prison, I keep my eyes open to potential blind spots, avenues of escape, etc. During my walk, I didn't see much that would lend itself towards getting me out of here.

Finally we arrived at an older part of the prison which I assumed was the section reserved for the administrative segregation of prisoners. The corridor was brightly lit and featured a series of solid metal doors. I was led to the very last door on the right.

The guards opened it, unlocked my restraints and shoved me inside. I had become so accustomed to the shortened stride due to my shackles that I almost fell over but managed to catch myself before that happened. I hear the guards chuckle quietly amongst themselves in reaction.

When the door was closed and the lock engaged, I still didn't let the stony expression fall from my face. I did allow a bit of curiosity for my new surroundings to creep in, but that was all. For some bizarre reason, for a cell that was intended to only ever hold one prisoner, there was a set of bunk beds which dominated the space but only the bottom bunk had a mattress.

I set the sheets, pillow, and blanket I'd been given at processing down on the metal slats of the top bunk and surveyed my surroundings. The only other 'furniture' was an old fashioned sink and toilet. By my guestimate, the cell was about 10 feet by 8 feet. The door was a solid sheet of metal with one viewing port towards the top and a secured slit to deliver meals.

Given the late hour that I was put in here tonight, I could almost certainly count on not getting anything to eat until morning. And now that I think about it, I haven't eaten anything all day. Did I eat anything yesterday? I honestly could not remember. With the sink, I was at least semi-assured that they wouldn't be able to deny me anything to drink.

The feeling I'd had upon entering this cell that I was being watched was so strong at this point that it was nearly driving me nuts. I don't know what makes me look up but when I briefly do in the guise of frustration at my new surroundings, I just happen to spot it. The bare bulb dangling from the ceiling has a companion – a very new one if my guess is correct.

Had I not had so much experience with cameras just like that I wouldn't have ever spotted it, but I did. I had to force the anger I was feeling back behind the wall of emotions I'd constructed to help me endure this prison. I'm pretty sure that there aren't supposed to be cameras allowed in individual cells, but I guess I get the special treatment around here in every way possible.

And, really… What did they expect to see and presumably hear? Did they expect me to confess aloud once I was alone or plan some sort of prison break? Am I really so dangerous that they need to watch what I'm doing every minute of the day? So, even here within my cell, I can't let myself completely relax for even one second. I get no reprieves from this…situation I find myself in.

This cell is worse than the last one I'd been forced to spend time in. That one was nearly three times smaller but at least I could be alone with my thoughts. Here I have to be alert and on guard 24 hours a day. I ignore the camera and instead prepare my mattress to sleep even though I knew sleep would be a long time coming.

Idly I wonder when lights out is, but it comes to me a few minutes later that because of the camera above, it might never be lights out within my cell. Only time will tell. I sit on the bottom bunk, knees drawn to my chest, arms on my knees and sit there staring at the wall in front of me. Meanwhile, the thoughts inside my mind were racing around and around and it takes quite a lot of my concentration to force them to slow down.

My internal clock tells me it's well after midnight, but as of now, the lights are still on. I unfold myself and stretch out on my bunk. It's just this side of too short for me so my feet hang out over the end by a couple of inches. I'm sure my watchers are getting a kick out of the sight, but they will get no reaction from me.

I cross my hands over my belly and close my eyes even though I'm confident that I'll get no sleep. Even still, it's important that I at least get some rest and so that's what my body is doing while my mind goes over every detail of what led me to this moment.

My desire to avenge and get justice for my parents' deaths compromised me to the point where I allowed myself to be blind to everything else that was going on around me – the overall big picture – and I managed to drag three very good people down with me. They don't deserve the trouble I've brought upon their lives.

Some have said that I have a hyper-active, over-developed sense of responsibility, but in this instance, in this set of circumstances, it is absolutely and irrevocably true. And, if I allow them to keep trying to get me out of this mess, then they'll end up just like me or worse. That is if there is even anyone left to help me.

Kono was at booking which means she's in trouble somehow but probably having to do with the $10 million they stole. Chin is back at HPD, and while I don't want to think he's betrayed me and that he's actually helping us work this from the inside, I can't be sure until I can talk to him. And, Danny. He said he'd get me out of this, but so far it doesn't seem like he's been able to do much yet.

He's been distracted more the last several days with Rachel and I hope that his determination to help me won't cause another rift to form between them. I just hope this mess doesn't spill out over into Grace's life. I don't think I'd be able to stand that and I'm certain Danny would never forgive me if his daughter got hurt because of me.

I must have dozed off for a little while because the next thing I know I'm starting to hear the sound of metal sliding on metal over and over again. I don't allow myself to react other than to open my eyes and sit up in bed. I push my legs over the side and sit staring straight ahead with my hands lightly gripping the edge of my bunk. The viewing port quickly slides open and closed barely giving me time to see the guard's face out of the corner of my eye before it was gone again. Then the meal port opens and a tray is pushed inside.

I ignore it and instead go to relieve myself at the toilet. I think about hunching over to not give them a show, but they probably have already seen all they wanted while I was being cavity searched last night. I wash my hands a little in the slightly ruddy-colored water before splashing my face with the clearer liquid that eventually comes out after I let it run for a couple of minutes.

I don't have a towel so I wipe the excess water on my pants' legs and then wander over to my 'breakfast.' Apparently someone was up on military non-judicial punishments and has chosen to subject me to a sort of 'captain's mast' this morning.

On my tray are two slices of plain white bread and a tin cup of water that looked as though it had a big, disgusting wad of spit floating on top. I disregard the bread and pick up the cup. It's easy enough to dump the contents, wash it out and use it drink as much water as I can stand. I leave the bread not wanting to let myself get into trouble with a bout of constipation which 'being booked' can lead to.

I'd almost starved a couple of times before due to compromised missions; I could go six more hours without food. So, instead I drank my fill of water and when finished, I set it back on the tray unsure what would happen if I didn't. Just then I heard the metal sliding on metal sound again and went back to my bunk sitting as I did before – getting the guards and those watching me used to seeing nothing much at all.

However many hours later, I hear the same sounds as from this morning, but this time when my tray was pushed through, there was no cup and what's most likely the same two slices of bread from breakfast. I have to make a choice.

Do I give in and eat the bread or do I let myself go without food for another six to eight hours in hopes that I'll get something different for dinner? With that damned camera above watching everything, I can't get away with anything. I couldn't even pretend to give the guards (or whoever was behind this 'joke') a laugh by 'giving in' – the watchers would know I was lying.

The absence of a cup with my tray likely means that they're probably going to try to do everything in their power to demoralize me. If they only knew how little it would take at this point.

Given the watchers, my decision was easy. I left the bread on the tray and instead walked over to my sink. I turn it on and slowly, using my cupped hands, drink my fill of metallic-tasting water. Eventually the tray is taken away again and I am left alone with my camera and whoever was currently watching me.

For a split second I have the urge to wave up at the camera, but I stifle it in order to make them think I've begun to forget it's there. I was beginning to get desperate for something to do, but without any food over the last day and a half or more, it was unwise to expend much of my energy reserves in case something unexpected was to occur.

So, I sit on my bunk and lose myself in my thoughts. I spend time mentally reviewing what I knew about Wo Fat, the contents of the Champ box, and any other information I think is pertinent. After a while, I let myself have some recreational thinking time and relive my first couple of days of BUD/S training.

The memories reminded me how I've endured much worse than this and survived. And it made me determined to continue to survive this for as long as I had to. Mentally fortified, I replay the first game I ever played as quarterback in high school. My thoughts though tended to stray towards the game Five-0 had attended as a team – the day I first met Grace – which had turned into a gunfight and our next case.

It was also the first time I'd asked the governor to use her influence to help my partner out of a custody issue. I tried not to abuse my connection to the governor, it was hard not to with her private number on speed dial – but I managed to keep the number of times down to a minimum. Just thinking about the governor made the anger inside me boil, but I force my thoughts onto other more pleasant things and eventually calmed down. All the while I hoped the cameras didn't pick up my changes in emotion.

Before I knew it, dinner time came around. This time besides the same two slices of white bread, there was a slightly mushy apple, but still no cup. I had no idea if I should count it as a victory that there was more than the bread or if it was just another way to manipulate me. Having me starve to death would be tough to explain but either way I had to eat something and the extremely bruised apple was better than nothing.

I ignored the bread yet again which looked dried out and stiff as a board and ate the entire apple, core and all. That night, I went to bed a little light headed from the lack of a proper diet, but curious to see what they'd give me at the next 'meal.'

Over time, meals settled into a routine. Breakfast and lunch were always two pieces of plain, white bread which I refused to eat every single time. When dinner finally came around each day, what I got on my tray was at first random but eventually became repetitive as I realized the prison kitchen's menu rotated through a set selection of meals. Some nights, I got a piece of fruit or two with my bread and other nights it was a glob or two of extremely over-cooked vegetables. Other nights, it was some combo of fruit and vegetable.

I got meat on my tray only once a week. And, as I lost track of time, it became my only way besides the three times a day I got my tray, to track the passage of time. After a while, I started to wonder if they were playing mind games with me and using the routine to alter my perceptions. But, because I heard the voices of other inmates occasionally and the guards – too random to be faked – I let that suspicion eventually slip away.

The guards never spoke to me though and I started to forget what it was like to communicate with people, and since I never spoke either, I wondered if it was possible to forget how to talk. Every once in a while, I let one of Danny's rants play in my mind, but eventually the thought of anyone from the most likely disbanded Five-0 task force made me so depressed, I could hardly endure my life as it was now.

My jailers did everything they could to make my life worse than any hell-hole I'd ever spent time in as a SEAL. The light in my cell was never turned off or dimmed, but was on brightly 24 hours a day, seven days a week. Curious to see what they would do, I put my blanket over the top bunk to create a space in my cell without so much light and a little privacy. Upon my return from the first shower I was allowed after I'd done that, after I'd been released from my restraints and turned around, I saw that they'd taken my bed, mattress, and pillow away leaving only a single sheet behind. It was nine meals before they returned the pillow and another 12 meals before there was a light blanket again.

My once a week shower was something I looked forward to in a way even if they never let me shave that often (and only with an electric razor). Not only did I get to be out of my cell for a few minutes, but I got to feel clean at least for a little while. And after each one of those showers, it was much easier for me to remember what it felt like to go for a swim in the ocean, to remember what that freedom felt like.

As always, when being escorted to and from my cell, the highly restrictive restraints were used, but they were taken off at the entrance to the showers. From what I could tell, shower time was always late at night, and they always had at least five armed guards present every single time. Did they really think I'd try to hurt them or try to escape without any clothes on?

Each time I removed my clothing, a guard would take it from the room and bring back a small piece from a bar of soap and a towel that basically equated to one slightly bigger than a regular hand towel. The first shower I was allowed, the water was cold, practically freezing, but that didn't bother me as much as they probably thought it would. They had obviously forgotten that I've had plenty of experience in freezing waters during my SEAL days.

I only got something like ten minutes to enjoy my shower and that little bit of freedom from my lonely cell. That first time I also got the same clothes I'd been wearing back. It turns out that I got fresh clothes only every other time I was allowed to shower. Sometimes they didn't even give me soap.

These were just more examples of my jailers doing everything they could to make every second of my time here the worst kind of hell. Apparently they've never been through SEAL training's Hell Week. I refused to ring the brass bell then, and I certainly won't do it now. No matter how much I want to sometimes.

But, there was one thing they couldn't take away from me – my mind. It might eventually become my worst enemy in this place, but for right now I had the memories of a life-time to keep me occupied when I wasn't eating, sleeping, or exercising.

Once there was more to my meals than those two plain, white slices of bread (which I never ate much less touched), and I was eating regularly again, I began spending some time every day exercising. Pacing my cell, push-ups, sit-ups – every exercise I could think of that I could do without any equipment and in such a confined space. I even practiced some Yoga, Tai Chi, Qigong, and other similar exercises. My mind might be active and full of memories to explore, but my body had to stay active too.

The first day I exercised, my jailers cut back my meals to just the bread, but I kept exercising anyway even if it was just to stretch out my muscles. I could tell I was losing weight, but there was nothing I could do about it. When they saw I wasn't going to stop my activities, my meals went back to their usual 'gourmet' extravagance six meals later.

I got to go to the exercise yard every 21 to 27 meals but this, like the showers, was a dubious privilege. For one thing, the yard for those prisoners under administrative segregation was much, much smaller than the one for the general population. It was basically a cage three times the size of my cell, with nothing but gravel below and the sky above me to keep me occupied.

Going to the exercise yard, like going to the showers, meant that I had to have the five armed guards and the usual almost too tight restraints going to and from my cell. Once there, they would release my hands but not my feet. I couldn't really do anything but sit in the sliver of sunlight that was left at that time of day for the 15 minutes or less that they so generously permitted to me.

I really looked forward to that 15 minutes – it was the only time I ever saw the sky and the occasional bird, the only time I felt the warmth of the sun or the wind on my skin. No one was ever out there with me, but I was OK with that because I was outside. And because I was outside, it didn't matter one bit that my time out of my cell (including travel between my cell and the cage) only amounted to no more than 20 minutes.

I knew I was being watched, so I made sure to give no indication that I was enjoying myself for fear of having the 'privilege' taken away. Every other privilege had been messed with, cut short or taken away, so I had to be careful to not let on how much being outside, even if it was only for 10 to 15 minutes at a time, meant to me. Once I was pushed into the cage, I simply picked out the sunniest spot and sat down. After that, the only movements I ever made aside from sitting and breathing was to let my eyes roam around taking in every detail and to quickly look up once at the sky as if gauging what the weather was like that day. That one glimpse up into the sky (clear blue or cloudy) was almost akin to a glimpse of heaven. It sustained me during those nights when I couldn't sleep, when I couldn't stand my memories anymore, and when my thoughts turned dark. Every time I got to go to the yard, it ended the same – the guards never spoke to me to tell me my time was up, but instead they just came up to me, yanked me to my feet and re-attached the restraints to my hands. They'd then push me towards the door and lead me back to my cold, lonely cell.

The only interaction with people I did get was the visit from my junior public defender every 24 to 30 meals. During our first meeting after I was sent here, he told me I wasn't allowed to have any other visitors. By the time our second meeting had finished, I had learned that his visits were a waste of both our times even though it was nice to have someone to talk to every once in a while. We never really talked about my impending trial and he refused to keep me informed on the investigation or any news from outside these walls. Eventually I stopped saying much to him because he never seemed like he wanted to get me acquitted of the charges against me.

At our first meeting, he told me that the case against me was looking to be pretty airtight. I had no alibi that could defend against HPD finding me standing in front of the recently murdered governor with a gun in my hands. I also had no defense against the fact that I had the knowledge and means to kill Laura Hills too. Forensics wasn't helping me either – fingerprints, eye witnesses, GSR, etc., etc. all pointed to one soon to be ex-Lieutenant Commander Steven J. McGarrett being imprisoned for life. If Hawai'i had the death penalty, I'd be sure to have that sentence passed down to me. As it was, I was looking at two consecutive life sentences with no chance of parole and the high probability that I'd spend the rest of my life in solitary.

No matter how I looked at it, the situation was bleak.

In fact, Junior was saying that I should just enter a guilty plea and save the tax payers some time and money. I wouldn't agree to that course of action. I did not kill those two women and I was going to make the state of Hawai'i prove beyond a reasonable doubt that I committed those crimes of which I am accused. They were never going to get me to confess to something I did not do.

I tried a few times to get Junior to tell me something – anything – about what was going on with the team or the investigation, but he refused so I stopped asking. What was the point if I was going to be kept completely in the dark about everything. I didn't even know what day it was anymore and my internal clock has failed me to the point where I now count time by how many meals it's been in between things happening.

The next time I come back from a shower, a note is lying on my precisely folded blanket – the mattress never did make a return appearance to my cell. I reach down and pick up the note. It was a plain white sheet of paper with some really awful handwriting on it that I didn't recognize. If I were to guess though, I'd say the writer was trying to hide the fact that they were right handed. Like what their dominant hand was really mattered to me in here – unless they knew about the camera.

Did whoever had left the note also know about the camera? Were they going to suffer any repercussions because of this? Or, were my jailers playing another game with me?

Once I was able to decipher the handwriting, its contents really rattled me, and the only way I let it show was to go from doing my usual pacing of my cell to stopping and standing stock still for a moment before resuming my short trek back and forth. The note said:

_Kono Kalakaua indicted for $10 M theft. Looking at 20 years in jail._

When I went for the money in the asset forfeiture locker to save Chin's life, it never even occurred to me that Kono would go down for my decision. If I confessed, then maybe Kono would get a lighter sentence. Either way her time as a police officer was done, but I had to try. It was still 13 to 18 meals until I saw Junior again and could do something to help my ex-teammate.

That evening I tore the paper into squares and used what I remembered of origami folds to make a bunch of cranes in attempt to show them that the piece of paper and its news meant nothing to me. I doubt they believed it, but at least it was something different to do as the long hours slowly slipped away. They were all gone the next time I came back to my cell from my time in the yard several meals later. My pillow and blanket were gone too. Apparently I wasn't allowed anything from the outside. Either that or they were just trying to mess with me again. It was difficult to tell at this point.

After my next shower, the one where I got clean clothes, there was another sheet of paper and my pillow was back. I didn't really care about the blanket one way or the other since it barely made it feel like I wasn't sleeping on a concrete floor every night, and I'd gotten used to the cool temperature of my cell.

This time the sheet of paper said:

_Chin Ho Kelly in critical condition at the hospital. Shot because he had insufficient HPD back-up._

I may have paused my pacing for more than a moment this time, but I repeated what I did when I'd received the note about Kono. Given what's befallen my ex-teammates since I was imprisoned, I was almost dreading the next note that I'd be receiving.

I'd so badly wanted news about my team that once I did get it, I wished I was still ignorant of what was happening with them. I'd had news of Kono and Chin, the next note should be about Danny. I really hope nothing bad has happened to him since I've been here.

The next note was different in that it wasn't a note so much as a copy of a flight itinerary – Danny's. It indicated that Danny had taken a one-way red eye flight back to New Jersey with Rachel and Grace the same night I'd been arrested.

He's gone. He said he'd help me get out of this mess, and he's gone. Left me to rot in here for the rest of my life.

No wonder no progress was being made to clear me. I had no one left on my side out there fighting for me. Abandoned and betrayed again. Alone.

I now only have my memories to look back on, and now those involving Five-0 and especially Danny were tainted. His family, especially Grace, is his life, but I thought we were ohana too. He's my best friend. How could he leave me to this fate without a fight?

At the very least, as my partner, he should've fought to clear my name as hard as he fought for Meka, but apparently I'm not worth the trouble. I don't begrudge him his family, but I feel as though I've been betrayed by a brother – something I know Danny's experienced. That knowledge just made the betrayal I'm feeling that much more manifest in my heart.

Unlike with the other two notes, I can't resume my pacing, can't bring myself to tear the sheet to pieces and make origami cranes. This time I sit heavily on my sheet – the one I religiously folded up and placed in the corner of my cell every single morning along with my pillow – with the itinerary firmly clutched in my hand. I'm careful to not let any emotion show on my face, but I'm sure my actions now are clearly indicating my feeling of defeat.

I barely eat or move for the next six or seven meals and definitely don't sleep. If my count is correct then I'm due for some time out in the yard soon and my last tie to my partner – via the itinerary I've barely let go of since I found it – will be gone. Even though it reminds me of his betrayal every time I realize the sheet of paper is in my hand or catch a glimpse of it, I don't want to be rid of this last tenuous link. The link to what had been a new beginning, new friends and the feeling that I was making my home safe for kids like Grace. But once that paper is gone, so too is that life if only metaphorically.

I still had some hope that I'd get out of this mess before, but now it is gone. There's no choice, I must let that link go and I do. The paper is gone when I get back from the exercise yard. Not even my measly 15 minutes outside is enough to bring me up out of my depression or my apathy. I'm just not hungry and skip several more meals only drinking water. Apparently I don't want to die quite yet.

I still have one more thing to live for – something I need to do and still can do for Kono. Junior attorney should be making his semi-usual visit in a few more meals so I'm going to see if I can get Kono a reduced sentence by confessing to the asset forfeiture locker theft.

Eventually exhaustion catches up with me and when I finally get to sleep, I dream of the night I got arrested. Images are distorted as are words, but two things keep coming to mind: Danny arriving at the governor's house as Chin is putting me in a police cruiser and the clock on the wall of HPD's booking area that I'd barely registered in my mind at the time. My eyes pop open with two realizations.

The first is: Given the time it was when I was booked; there was no way Danny could be at the Governor's Mansion watching me get manhandled into a cruiser and at the same time be on a flight to New Jersey. If that was a lie, then couldn't what was going on with Kono and Chin be lies too?

The other realization was that: They were still playing mind games with me! And given the treatment bordering on cruelty I've received in prison, it was a safe bet that Wo Fat was behind some if not all of it. It explains why I've not met with some sort of deadly 'accident' during my time here. He wants me to suffer for as long as possible, to break me physically and mentally, and he almost succeeded. But now that I know he's still finding ways to wreak havoc in my life – even while imprisoned in jail – I'm not going to let him get to me again.

This led to a third realization: What if my Junior Public Defender was working for Wo Fat too? It would explain so much, so many of the kid's actions – the reason he was assigned such a high profile case for his first time at trial, his desire and persistence to have me confess, his unwillingness to listen to me and mount a proper defense. And more than likely, he never even tried to find anyone else to take on my case and lied that no one wanted it. Lied about visitation rights. Lied about everything.

I'm being manipulated from every angle and there's nothing I can do about it. I can't talk to anyone because I have no idea who I can trust or what my jailers would do to punish me for trying. Not that there's much more they can take away from me anymore.

And, for all I know my team is close to clearing me and Wo Fat's people are trying to get me to do something stupid. My team is probably getting false reports about me and is probably being told I am refusing all visitors aside from my attorney.

The only thing still troubling me is the fact that Danny's itinerary looked so real. Danny must have been planning on going back to New Jersey and leaving the Islands for good. A one-way ticket meant he had no plans of coming back and even if I were to, by some miracle, get out of this mess; I wouldn't have my best friend and partner in my life anymore.

He would already have been back there if I hadn't been framed for the governor's murder. I refuse to believe anymore that he and my team wouldn't be or aren't there for me. We're ohana – at least I considered us to be ohana – there's just no way that they'd abandon me like it seems they've done. Right?

Something big must've happened for Danny and his family to want to leave so suddenly. Danny would not go back on his word to help me – he would not abandon a friend. Rachel must have confessed to Stan, but that can't be the only reason… There has to be more to provoke this action, but what else?

A baby. That's the only logical reason that Rachel would want to leave the Islands so quickly. She just wants to be away from a difficult situation and what—? Panicked? Is that why Danny brought that beer over? To give me the 'good' news?

And, Danny goes where his family goes. Family first. I can understand and have encouraged that philosophy. It's just my definition of family is apparently different from my friend's. Whereas Danny holds equal with Mary (if I'm honest with myself) at the top spot on my list of family; I will always be put in line after Grace, his blood family, Rachel, and of course his friends and the life he left behind in New Jersey on Danny's list. I'd learned to accept that for the most part.

I've known Danny hated Hawai'i from the very start of our partnership. Known he preferred cities and skyscrapers, missed his favorite Jersey restaurants. Known that he'd wanted to leave the very second that option became available, but I never thought it would be so soon. I thought I'd have my best friend around a little longer.

We would try to keep in touch, but he'll have a whole life that I won't be a part of. We were brought together by the job and became friends, but without that common thread between us… And, once the new baby comes, he won't have time for anything but his family. We'll lose contact eventually and I'll be forgotten except to be used as a cautionary tale of what _not_ to do as a cop.

The realization that I'm losing my friend no matter what is a blow to my newly reclaimed hope, but I've endured loss so many times, in so many ways, and on so many emotional levels that I know I'll be able to endure this one too. I have to otherwise everything that's happened in my life would crush me and grind me into dust.

So I will continue to waste more time with my attorney – at least it's time from my cell – and pretend I still believe he's working in my best interest. I will continue to skip my two meals of plain white bread and eat my third of mushy whatever they give me with my portion of meat every so often. I will continue to exercise in my cell, catching what few hours of sleep I can, and carry on with the rest of what is now my routine.

And the most important thing I will continue to do is to keep believing in my team and have faith that they will get me out of this mess.

I will endure.

I always do.

ooooooo

_The end._

**ooooooo**

_**Thanks for reading!**_

**A/N:** I'm not an expert on the law, so I'm very aware that I sort of skip some procedures, tweak a few things, and ignore some rights. ;0] I just wanted to show how it would be if the rules/procedures were manipulated to make solitary confinement even worse than my research shows it can be and how Steve would deal with his situation. It's a dark story, but I hope you enjoyed it on some level.

BTW, I'm working on a companion piece from Danny's POV if anyone's interested.


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